


Things you said

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [37]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internal Monologue, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Sickfic, Time Skips, Vomiting, things you said
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28965738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Things Bucky said.  Things Steve wanted to say.  Things they did anyway.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Heroverse [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/838239
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @builder051

#  1.0 Things you said at 1 AM [Falls Church, 2015]

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed with his back to Steve. His feet are on the floor and his hands in fists, clutching the quilt in his lap. 

“Hey,” Steve says, reaching across the mattress to place a comforting hand on Bucky’s lower back. “It’s ok. It’s over. It was just a dream.”

“Mm,” Bucky hums. “I know.” His shoulders go concave, and he bows his head, as if looking out into the darkness of the bedroom is too threatening. 

“Come’ere.” Steve pulls gently on the bottom of Bucky’s t-shirt.  _ Come here. Come let me wrap you in my arms and get rid of the pain. Let me distract you from whatever’s still playing on the backs of you eyelids. Let me hold you and love you and keep you from the things that hurt you. _

“I’m ok.” Bucky doesn’t move.

“I know, Buck,” Steve whispers. “But… come back to bed.”

“I…will.” He doesn’t move. “I…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks.  _ It’s ok if the answer is no. I just want you to have every opportunity to let it go. To feel better. _

Silence.

“Or go back to sleep?” Steve sits up and poises behind Bucky’s back.  _ Can I touch you? Is that what you want? Is that going to help? _

He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, dragging his thumb across the neckline of his sweaty t-shirt. 

Bucky melts under Steve’s touch. The hard knots of muscle lose their tension. He bends further forward until his elbows are on his knees and his face buried in his hands. 

“You feeling alright?” Steve asks.  _ I’m sorry I keep probing you with questions. I just have to know how I can help… _ “You feeling sick?”

Bucky heaves in a deep breath, his chest expanding and shoulders rising. Then he shrivels on the exhale, seeming smaller and more broken than before. “Kind of,” he whispers. “I…I don’t know.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve traces down Bucky’s spine, then back up, over the clammy skin of the back of his neck, and up into his hair.  _ What can I do to help? _

__ Bucky takes another breath, this one punctuated with tremulous pauses. “I can’t,” he whispers. 

“It’s ok,” Steve murmurs automatically.  _ It’s fine. It doesn’t matter what it is. I could never think less of you. _

“I can’t…go back to sleep.” The words leave Bucky gasping, shaking all over. 

“That’s alright.” Steve throws his legs over the side of the bed so they’re hip-to-hip. “You don’t have to.” He pulls Bucky into an embrace. 

Bucky tucks his head under Steve’s chin and leans into his chest. “I…” he starts. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s ok.”  _ Never be sorry. Holding you, talking to you, it’s perfect. _ Steve glances at the clock on the bedside table. There are hours left until daylight. “How ‘bout we go downstairs. I’ll make you a cup of tea. That be ok?”

“Hm.” It takes a moment for Bucky to nod into Steve’s collarbone. 

“Alright. Good.”  _ You’re doing fine, Buck. I’m gonna get you better yet. _


	2. Chapter 2

#  2.0 Things you said through your teeth [Falls Church, 2015]

They’re at the gym when Bucky starts to stiffen. His expression turns to a scowl, and he moves his jaw around without saying anything.

Steve drops his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and glances from one piece of equipment to the next for the source of whatever it is that’s bothering him. It’s late afternoon and other people are around, clanking dumbbells and slapping the buttons on treadmills. Perhaps it’s the sound of stretching cables. Or clanking weights. Maybe the scent of someone’s cologne. Or the lukewarm draft coming from the vents.

“You ok?” Steve asks quietly, though he already knows Bucky isn’t. 

Bucky takes a slow inhale and doesn’t let it out. 

“Let’s go home.”  _ Let’s get away from whatever’s hurting you. I’d strip whatever it is out of the world if I could. _

__ Bucky heads for the locker room. 

“Or in here, that’s good.” But there’s no need to go in. The keys are in Steve’s pocket. Neither of them brought a change of clothes. But he knows it’s privacy Bucky’s after.

Once they’re around the corner, Bucky backs into a bank of lockers. He throws a faintly trembling hand over his face and digs is fingertips into his temples. 

“It’s alright. You’re safe,” Steve says. He stands facing Bucky and grips his upper arms. His long-sleeved shirt covers his metal arm, but it’s cold in Steve’s grip, a sharp contrast to the quivering warmth in Bucky’s flesh bicep. 

Bucky still isn’t breathing. He grinds his teeth together and tips his head back with a dull metallic thunk.

“It’s ok, Buck.” 

“I don’t…” Bucky grinds out, barely opening his mouth.

“Breathe, alright? Everything’s gonna be ok.”  _ I’ll never let anything hurt you. You have to know that. _

“I don’t…right now. Here…” Bucky bites his lip.

“Take a breath. You’re working yourself up.”

Bucky finally lets out a long gust of air, then quickly inhales again.

“Hey, slowly, ok?”  _ I hate to hear you sound like you’re dying. _

__ “I don’t…want to do this.” Bucky chokes.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. It’s tough being in public,” Steve murmurs _. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. And embarrassment on top of it? _

__ “Just. God.” Bucky leans in toward Steve so they’re almost nose to nose. 

“Alright. Do you know where you are?” Steve asks.  _ Here. Safe. With me. _

__ “Fucking gym…”

“Yeah. Good. I know, not the ideal place. We’ll go home when you’re ready.”

Bucky drops his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. “…’s get the hell out of here…”

“Yeah. Real soon.”  _ I know you’re not ok. I don’t care if we never talk about it. Just get your breath under control. _ Steve takes measured inhales and exhales of Bucky’s hair, willing the man in his arms to follow suit.

He feels people walking in and out of the locker room, passing them by without a word. Steve can’t see if they’re staring, but it hardly matters. 

Minutes pass, and Bucky finally begins to slacken. He lets out a breath and his weight suddenly releases onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Ok,” Steve whispers. “Good.”  _ You’re here. You’re safe. _

__ “Can we go?” he mumbles into Steve’s collarbone, the words more vibrations than actual sounds. 

“Yeah, of course.” Steve gives him a squeeze. “Feel up to walking out to the car?”

“Hm. Yeah.” Bucky straightens up, using the wall of lockers for support. He’s pale and shaky, but he maintains Steve’s eye contact. And he doesn’t shy away when Steve reaches for his hand.

“Ok.” Steve lets out his own breath of fears.  _ You got through it. All that matters is that you got through it. _


	3. Chapter 3

#  3.0 Things you said too quietly [Falls Church, 2015]

Bucky’s bent on one knee, tying his shoe. They’re on the way out the door, headed to Bucky’s psychiatrist appointment, and already running late. Steve doesn’t like being late. The military framed the habit as disrespectful, but if he’s honest, he’d thought as much since he was a kid. 

He’s become a little more lax these days, since living with Bucky has given him a crash course in anxiety. There are days when leaving the house is challenging and they end up missing the beginning of the movie or the first round of drinks. It’s something he accepts without question, but Steve still likes to be on time.

Bucky makes a frustrated sound. He yanks on his shoelace with his metal hand, snapping it. He wads the broken string in his fist and presses it to his forehead. His squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve says. “We got spares somewhere.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers. He sounds detached. Not as far away as he is during flashbacks, but not entirely present either. 

_ What’s upsetting you? I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure it’s not just your shoelace… _

“It’s ok,” Steve says again. “We can fix it. Later, though. We have to go now.”

Bucky’s shoulders move up and down as he breathes.

“Do you want some different shoes?”  _ Come on, come on… _

“…No…” It’s so quiet it’s barely a sound.

“Then let’s go. We’re already late,” Steve says. He pats Bucky’s shoulder, meaning it to be an invitation to stand up.

But Bucky balls in on himself further. He falls from his crouch to a seated position, his face still scrunched as if he’s in pain. 

“Buck?”  _ Not now, please not now. We have to go… _

Steve lowers himself to the floor and tentatively reaches for Bucky’s knee. Bucky flinches.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, redacting his touch. “D’you…want to talk about it?”  _ We’re going to be so late. At least maybe a psychiatrist will understand… _

__ “I don’t…” Bucky tucks his forehead down toward his knee.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to go.” 

In the days before the war, Bucky would yell. Sadness and discomfort and anger, would come thorough loudly. Steve would try to yell back, but the struggle to fill his lungs with air usually cut off his attempts to out shout Bucky. But now, even Steve’s regular speaking voice feels too loud. Bucky’s words create a delicate atmosphere of his feelings, fragile as a soap bubble. 

“Ok,” Steve says. “I can reschedule, if you want.”  _ But this is the doctor to talk to about these things. I’m trying my best, but he’s going to have more answers than I do… _

“I…” Bucky sighs. “It’s not helping.” He doesn’t look up. It’s as if he’s speaking just to himself.

“Oh.”  _ This is new. _

“The meds don’t help. They just make my stomach sick.”

Something clicks in Steve’s head.  _ This is the problem. God, Buck, I’m sorry I pushed this on you… _

“I’m sorry. I just…” Bucky sighs.

“No, don’t apologize,” Steve says. “You’re in charge of you…of what you want to do.”  _ You  _ will _ need to go back to the doctor, though, to talk about this. To wean off the meds, or… _

Bucky nods. Then yanks his broken-laced shoe off his foot. “I don’t want to wear this.”

“No,” Steve chuckles. “You don’t have to.”  _ Keep owning your feelings, Buck. You’re doing great. _


	4. Chapter 4

#  4.0 Things you said over the phone [Warsaw, Poland, 2015]

Steve’s lounging across one of the beds in the hotel room when his phone buzzes to life with a flurry of texts. He puts down the file he’s perusing and snaps up the device instead. 

_ Bucky: Hi _

_ Bucky: Sorry _

_ Bucky: Can I talk to you? _

A flutter of concern starts up in Steve’s chest as he hurries to type a reply. 

_Steve:_ _Of course. What’s the matter?_

_ Bucky: Can I call you? _

__ Steve’s pretty sure it’s possible. It might cost a fortune in taxes and fees with him being overseas, but an American phone should call an American phone… And right now, all he needs is possible.

“Is it ok if Bucky calls?”

Nat looks up at him from the floor where she’s organizing HYDRA files into stacks by subject matter. She nods toward the phone in his hand. “Need me to step out?” She smiles.

Steve nods tentatively, not catching the implied innuendo. “I mean, is it safe to talk? Do you think we’re bugged?”

“As long whatever you’re talking about isn’t mission-critical, I don’t think it matters,” Nat says, getting to her feet. She opens the glass doors to the balcony. “I’d love to see the look on the enemy’s face when they intercept audio of you having phone sex with your boy.”

“God, that’s not…” Steve shakes his head. Nat laughs at him, but takes her leave.

Steve looks down at his phone again, returning to seriousness.  _ Sure _ , he types.

Barely a minute later, his phone starts ringing.

“Hey,” Steve answers.

“Hi.” The word is bookended with deep, shaky breaths. 

“You ok?” 

“Mm.”

_ This is why I don’t go on missions abroad so much… You’re not weak or helpless, but still… _ “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says.

“You sure?”  _ There doesn’t have to be a reason to be having a bad day, Buck. _

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” Steve listens to Bucky breathing for a minute. “Did you do anything interesting today? Read something good?” He realizes he isn’t sure what time it is back home.

“Not really.” He sounds like he’s trying to play off the blankness in his voice as boredom. But to Steve, the restraint is obvious.

“Well, that’s ok. It’ hasn’t been all that exciting around here either.” Steve’s careful not to mention what he’s been up to.  _ I wish I could tell you, though, Buck. You’d probably get a kick out of me and Nat drawing on maps so we can run around in tunnels with flashlights like a couple of kids. _

“I, uh. I want you home.” It’s abrupt. A little tremulous. 

Steve can only imagine how much courage it’s taken Bucky to say it. “I’ll be home soon.” It’s poor comfort, he knows.

“Yeah, I…”

_ I shouldn’t’ve come. I’ll never go away again, if that makes it better… _ But Steve knows he can’t promise that. It’s better, healthier, if he goes on missions.  _ Gives Bucky a bit of space. I’d fly home to you right now if I could. Because nothing’s as important to me as you are. _

“I miss you too,” Steve says.


	5. Chapter 5

#  5.0 Things you didn’t say at all [Falls Church, 2015] 

Bucky’s a shivering mess on the bathroom floor. He’s been slumped against the cabinets under the sink for over an hour, and Steve still hasn’t been able to convince him to move. He sits cross-legged on the bath mat murmuring encouragements.

“You want to get in bed? That’ll probably warm you up…”

Bucky’s teeth are chattering with the strength of his fever. It’s not hard to guess what’s triggering his pained silence. 

“Mm,” he grunts. He shifts slightly, then presses his lips together and swallows. 

“Hey.” Touch has been iffy, but Steve reaches out anyway. He gently brings his palm down on Bucky’s foot, smoothing the wrinkles in his sock.  _ I know you don’t feel good. I know it’s rough. _

__ Bucky sucks in a deep breath. His head is down, but Steve can see the glimmer of sweat dispersed through his five o’clock shadow.  _ Your stomach’s bothering you, huh? I wish I knew how to make it stop… _

__ “You’re gonna be ok. Keep breathing.”

Bucky jams his shaking fist up to his mouth to quell a sickly belch. 

“It’s alright, Buck.” They’re barely 2 feet from the toilet, but Steve doesn’t want to make him move. He isn’t sure if Bucky’s lucid enough to make the shift without assistance, and the last thing Steve wants is to smother him. It’s times like this when a comforting pat on the shoulder becomes something else from the dark reaches of his memory. 

Steve grabs the trash can and nudges it into Bucky’s lap.  _ God, I’m sorry you’re feeling so sick. You might be working yourself up, though. _

“There you go,” Steve whispers. “Let it go. You’re gonna be ok.”

Bucky gags harshly, jerking forward so his hair falls in a disheveled curtain. It sticks to his cheeks and forehead as he coughs, body bent on expelling air and viscous saliva.

Steve relocates to Bucky’s shoulder. It doesn’t matter that it’s the side with the metal arm. He still doesn’t touch.  _ I know you feel me here, though, Buck. Whether your mind’s all here or not, I know you do _ .

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Bucky tapers into hiccups, then breathy gasps. 

“Ok. You doing ok?” He’s more interested in getting a response than an actual answer to the question.

“Um.” Bucky clears his throat. He spits into the trash, then swipes at the fine rope of saliva dangling from his lip. “Hm. Yeah.” Even the muscles in his neck shake

_ You don’t have to be alright. You’re here. That’s all that matters. _ “You still cold?”

“Mm-hm.” Bucky drags his sleeve over his mouth, then dabs at the clammy sweat on his forehead.

“Ready to come to bed?”

A breath. Bucky pushes the trash can to the side and reaches up, silently asking for Steve’s help.

“Ok. Good.” Steve scrambles up, then pulls Bucky to standing. “Can I give you a hug? Would that be ok?” 

“Mm.” Bucky practically collapses onto Steve’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” Steve murmurs. When you’re sick, when you’re anxious…always. No matter what.

Bucky’s next exhale carries a note of contentment. 


	6. Chapter 6

#  6.0 Things you said under the stars and in the grass [Brooklyn, 1940]

It’s the hot, sticky part of summer when even open windows can’t coax a lick of moving air into the apartment. Lying side-by-side on top of the made bed in their underwear, trying not to touch, is a challenge. Steve listens to the ticking of the clock punctuate the sighs of Bucky’s sleepy breath and wonders why such an idyllic circumstance has to be so uncomfortable. 

“Don’t know if I can take this much longer,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hm. Thought you were asleep.”

“In this fucking heat?” Bucky laughs. He rises up on one elbow to look at Steve. “That’s real funny.”

Steve cracks a smile. “I’m not gonna ask if you have any other ideas.” He pushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead and tries not to shoot Bucky a seductive glance. He fails miserably.  _ It’s too hot… _

“Jesus Christ, Rogers.” Bucky nudges him in the shoulder. “Who’s the filthy one now?”

“Leave me alone,” Steve whines. “I’m trying to sleep.”  _ As if anyone could possibly sleep in these conditions. _

“No you’re not,” Bucky says. He sits up and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. “Come on.”

“Huh?”

“Nobody’s sleeping tonight. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Right now?” Steve checks the clock. It’s ten minutes past midnight. “That’s like asking to get mugged.”

“It’s too hot for the criminals to be out.” Bucky throws Steve a pair of pants. 

“You mean all the criminals except us.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I mean.” Bucky does up his zipper and bends to kiss Steve’s sweaty cheek.

They leave their building and meander through the streets without a destination in mind. It’s still sweltering, but being outside lessens the feeling of being cooked in an oven. 

The entire city seems deserted. It’s possible to walk in the middle of the road without fear of cars. It’s possible to hold hands, at least until they get too sweaty.

When they come to Prospect Park, the cool air coming off the grass is like an oasis in the middle of a desert. For a second Steve wonders if it’s just a mirage, a tease of a hallucination brought on by the heat, but then Bucky’s face breaks into a grin. 

“Come on.” He pulls Steve by the hand until they both stumble, going down on their knees in the dirt.

“Never thought I’d rather lay in a field than in my bed,” Steve murmurs, rolling onto his back.

“You mean my bed?” Bucky laughs and shifts into the same position at Steve’s side.

“Hm.”  _ You can’t say stuff like that out here. Someone’s gonna hear you… _

“It’s all the same to me,” Bucky says. “As long as I got you, it doesn’t matter where we are. I’d sleep out here in the grass in fucking winter.”

“That’s stupid.”  _ I’m not worth all that. _

“Maybe I am stupid. But I love you.”

“Well, isn’t that something.” Steve blinks up at the stars, then turns his head. Bucky’s already staring at him. Has been for who knows how long. 

They both laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

#  7.0 Things you said while we were driving [Paris, Virginia, 2015]

Steve barely notices the scenery that flits by on the drive to Paris. He spends as much time looking forward through the windshield as he does looking over at Bucky in the passenger seat. 

It’s Clint’s birthday, and they’re on their way to the promised festivities. “Nothing too intense,” Laura had said over the phone. “He’s getting old, you know? We all are.” For weeks the party’s been an anticipated mark on the calendar. But today it’s beginning to seem like another burden. 

Bucky leans away from Steve, his shoulder wedged against the window. Steve’s asked a handful of times if he’s ok. Bucky keeps saying he’s fine. But he’d slept late and refused breakfast. Steve can’t shake a suspicion that things aren’t as good as Bucky’s trying to make them out to be.

_ I wish you felt like you could tell me.  _

“Probably ten minutes or so to go,” Steve says as he changes lanes for the exit. As soon as he’s safely paused at the next stop sign, he tries to catch Bucky’s eye. 

“Hey. Talk to me a little bit.” Steve turns off the radio. 

“Mm.” Bucky shifts so his arms are crossed over his chest. “What’s there to say?” His disused voice is raspy.

“You’ve been quiet. What’re you thinking about over there?”

“I’m always quiet.”

_ Quiet now. But you haven’t always been. _ Steve steals another glance sideways. The clouds overhead have shifted and the quality of the light has changed, but Bucky seems paler. More tight-lipped. 

He lets it go as he turns off the main thoroughfare onto badly-paved side street. They bounce along in silence for a minute. Then Bucky mutters, “Can you pull over?” 

It’s quiet and barely enunciated, but Steve immediately complies. “Yeah. What’s wrong? You not feeling good?”

“I, uh—” He cuts himself off with a sudden gag stifled behind his fist. Bucky reaches around himself and scrabbles for the door handle, his metal fingers scraping against the plastic.

“Hold on, I got you,” Steve says, releasing his seatbelt and scrabbling around the front of the car to Bucky’s side. He yanks the door open and pulls him to lean over the dry grass.

Bucky retches a couple times, then presses his forehead into Steve’s stomach. Steve brushes his hair back and cools the back of his neck. 

“Alright, you’re gonna be ok.”  _ If you’ve been feeling bad all day, we shouldn’t’ve come. You have to talk to me. _

Bucky gags again, splashing the ground between Steve’s feet.

“It’s ok.” Steve pats Bucky’s back. He doesn’t feel overly warm. “Was my driving making you sick?”

Bucky coughs. Shrugs. “Was just…kinda…all at once.”

_ Like being a kid again, learning how it feels to be in your body…  _ “Well, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky straightens up. There’s vomit on his hand and a drip down the front of his shirt. He gives Steve a guilty look and a thick swallow. 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to drive an hour back home.”  _ But you probably don’t want to go to a party now either… _

“Nuh.” It comes out as a breathy cough. 

“Don’t hold it back,” Steve says, busying himself in the glove box while Bucky throws up again. “I’ll give Laura a call. You always seem to listen to her.”

“I listen to you too,” Bucky croaks.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “Sometimes.”


	8. Chapter 8

#  8.0 Things you said when you were crying. [Falls Church, 2015]

Steve stirs awake before he realizes something’s wrong. The bedroom is dark and quiet, as if it’s still underwater before the light of morning brings a change in tide. He shifts positions and pulls the quilt up to his chin. Bucky’s shoulder presses against his. Steve closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath. Peace like this is rare in his life. He may as well savor it while it lasts. Because god knows it won’t for long.

He’s drifting off again when Bucky twitches, and the ever-vigilant part of Steve’s brain snaps to attention. Bucky exhales around a mumble of unintelligible words and drags his metal arm across his chest. 

The arm is a hazard of them sleeping together.  _ But well worth the risk. What are a few bruises every now and then? _

Steve finds Bucky’s flesh hand under the blankets and squeezes it. “You’re ok. You’re safe,” he whispers. 

Sometimes that’s enough to soothe the furrowed expression of pain on Bucky’s face. But not tonight. 

“Stop…I can’t…” Bucky mumbles. He screws up his eyes and curls inward, drawing the metal arm close as if deflecting a blow. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Steve sits up, fully awake now. “No one’s hurting you.”  _ I’m sorry anyone ever hurt you. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again. _

“No…stop…”

“It’s a dream, Buck,” Steve says. 

Bucky flails, bringing his flesh hand up to wrestle with Steve’s while the metal one lashes out.

Steve dodges the imprecise hit and reaches for Bucky’s plated wrist. “You need to wake up, ok? You’re safe. You’re at home. You’re just having a nightmare.”

With both hands occupied, his words feel pitifully insufficient. But he keeps murmuring encouragements until Bucky’s eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, babe. Wake up. You’re ok.”

Bucky’s eyes glitter in the darkness. He’s lost for a moment, then he focuses on Steve. “What…?” he whispers, out of breath. His arms go heavy and limp in Steve’s grasp.

_ There you are. See, it’s alright. I’m here. _ But the first thing he says is, “You’re safe.”

Bucky blinks a few times as if to clear fog. He swallows with a choked sound. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. You were having a nightmare. But it’s gone now.”

“But…” Bucky takes his right hand back and pinches between his eyes. 

_ There’s nothing else to it, Buck. Believe me. It’s alright. _

“If I was…punished…” His voice almost disappears under a wave of gravelly emotion. “I don’t remember…what happened.”

“It’s ok, Buck,” Steve says.  _ It might be better if you don’t remember it. _

“I’m sorry.” Bucky heaves in a shaky breath. When he blinks, two glistening tears fall in rivers down his cheeks. He tries to turn over his shoulder and bury his face in his pillow, but Steve’s comforting grip on his wrist holds him in place.

_ Don’t be embarrassed. _ “Doesn’t matter.”

“Didn’t mean to…wake you up,” Bucky sniffles.

_ That’s not really what you’re upset about. But I know it’s an easier thing to be upset about. _ “I like being awake when you’re awake. Gives me more time to do this.” Steve opens his arms, inviting Bucky into the embrace.

Bucky sobs quietly again. He takes a breath and burrows into Steve’s chest.


	9. Chapter 9

#  9.0 Things you said when I was crying [Brooklyn, 1939]

Bucky roughly throws his arm over Steve’s shoulder and pushes him toward the stairwell. “You just need to sleep it off,” he says, probably louder than he means to.

“I didn’t mean to be so...stupid,” Steve slurs. By stupid, he means drink his weight in whiskey and throw up all over the bar. 

“Naw, everybody does that at least once in their lives.” Bucky fumbles the keys out of his pocket. “But at least you know how many is too many now.” He laughs as he pushes open the door.

Steve stumbles inside and heads straight to the bedroom. He flops on his back sinks into the mattress without even taking off his shoes.  _ Why is everything so fuzzy? _

“I don’t remember…” Steve mutters.

“Huh?” Bucky must’ve followed him.

“I don’t remember how many I had.” 

Bucky laughs raucously. “God, Stevie. I don’t know what to say. That’s…that’s a scandal!”

Steve bursts into giggles until his entire body shakes. His ribcage and skull practically vibrating in his body until he’s dizzy all over again and gasping for breath.

“’S a fucking tragedy!” Bucky snorts and trips across the floor. He sits heavily at Steve’s side, rocking the mattress and creating a new sensation of vertigo.  _ Rogers, you’re fucked. _

__ Steve can’t stop laughing. Tears of mirth well up and leak from the corners of his eyes, running down his temples and into his ears.  _ This must be what it feels like to be on a boat.  _ _ This is terrible. _

His head throbs sickeningly. Steve brings his shaking hands up to wipe his eyes, but as soon as he dabs away the dampness, more droplets fall. “Christ,” he mutters, his voice breaking into a sob. 

“What’s wrong? You sick again?” Bucky pokes him in the shoulder.

“Naw.” Steve does feel sick, but that’s not the most pressing problem. He’s really crying now, and not entirely sure why.  _ This isn’t how the night is supposed to end. _

__ “What’s up? What’re you upset about?”

“I don’t know,” Steve groans _. Is this what it means to be a sad drunk? Have I always been like this and just never known it? _

__ “Aw, Stevie. Come’ere.” Bucky roughly grabs him under the armpits and heaves his floppy body upright. “Come’ere.” 

Steve slumps forward against his chest. His forehead beats into Bucky’s collarbones as he wracks with sobs. 

“It’s ok. Getting drunk and embarrassed is just…just happens.”

He’s making wet patches on the front of Bucky’s shirt. The fabric smells like sweat and beer, but it’s a small comfort.  _ I’m never letting go of you, Bucky. Not for anything. _

__ “You’re alright, Stevie. Stop worrying about it.” He squeezes his arms around Steve’s torso. “Or if you can’t stop, I guess that’s ok too…”

Steve tips his head back so he can steal a glance upward through the ocean still streaming from his eyes. Bucky’s looking down at him, hair stuck to his forehead and eyes slightly unfocused. But he flashes Steve a drunken smile. 

Steve does his best to return it, but he sobs again first.


	10. Chapter 10

#  10.0 Things you said that made me feel like shit [Falls Church, 2015]

When Steve gets home from work, he never knows what he’s going to find. Bucky’s moods are unpredictable, and days that start off dour often end in laughter and home cooking. Or, as seems to be the case today, in the opposite. 

The face-down lump on the couch doesn’t stir when Steve opens the door and hangs up his coat. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve sighs, crossing the living room on the way to the kitchen. He puts the kettle on to boil, trying to make enough noise to wake Bucky if he’s asleep or just acclimatize him to the presence of another person if he’s awake. He prepares two mugs, and once the teabags have finished steeping, he carries them out to the coffee table. 

Bucky’s shoulder blades rise and fall.

“Did something happen today?” Steve kneels in the space between the table and the couch. He folds his hands over Bucky’s elbow.  _ That was maybe too harsh. I’m sorry. I just…you’ve been so down lately. I want to help you feel better. _

“Not…not really,” Bucky mumbles into the upholstery. 

“Alright.” Steve lowers his head so his nose brushes Bucky’s ear. “I made you some tea. D’you want to sit up, maybe? Watch some TV or something?”  _ Distraction? Would that help? Or physical contact? We’ve done this so many times; I should be so much better at it. _

“It’s just…hard.” Bucky turns his head to face Steve through his curtain of hair.

“I know.”

Bucky lets out his breath in a huff that ruffles the dark strands covering his eyes. “Really? Do you, Steve?”

Steve pauses, taken aback. Bucky’s been struggling for so long. It’s a miracle he hasn’t snapped at Steve before now. But that doesn’t lessen the sting.

“Sorry, Buck.” Steve wants to kiss his forehead, wrap him in his arms. But he presses his lips together and bites into them.  _ I know you’re hurting. Your tension, your sadness, it’s all so clear. _

“You don’t know anything,” Bucky snarls, emotion punctuating his words. 

_ I don’t know everything that happened to you. But I don’t have to. I can read in your eyes and your shoulders and every inch of your body. Please, just let me.  _ “You’re right. I don’t,” Steve whispers. He brings one hand up to Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Be fucking glad you don’t. It’s not worth putting in your head.”

_ I would take it on for you in a second. I’d do anything to take it away from you, even if it killed me. You know that.  _ “Hm,” is all Steve can say.

Bucky exhales sharply. 

_ It’s ok to hurt. But you can’t stay this way.  _ “Come sit. Have some tea.”

“Stevie…” Bucky sighs out the nickname. “Just stop. You can’t help me.”

It’s as if a bullet has exploded in Steve’s chest.  _ This is exactly why I can’t, don’t you see? If you give up, it’s not just your life that goes down the drain. _

__ “Buck…” Steve’s afraid tears will fall if he blinks. He swallows and stands up. “I’ll leave your tea here, ok?” 


	11. Chapter 11

#  11.0 Things you said when you were drunk [Falls Church, 2015]

It’s midnight. Steve stands at the front door and watches Nat pull out of the driveway. She blinks her headlights at him and jets down the street, following Clint’s oversized SUV.

Steve turns and shuts the door. “Alright,” he says. “That’s that.” He enters the kitchen where the sink is full of plates and empty glasses and Bucky’s slumped over the kitchen table. It was supposed to have been a night of a few drinks with friends, but for him, it’s evolved into a night of a few too many.

“How’re you doing?” Steve asks _. I should’ve cut you off. I’m sorry, Buck. _

“’M alright,” Bucky slurs. “I haven’t been drunk in…forever.”

“Yeah.” Steve can’t help but smile through his concern. “Seventy years, give or take?”

“I didn’t even know it was possible…” Bucky dissolves into giggles.

_ Right, that’s why I’m a little worried… _ “Any idea how much you had?” At this point, it’s impossible to paw through the glasses in the sink and bottles in the trash and figure out which drink belonged to which person.

“Naw.” Bucky bows forward so his forehead touches the tabletop.

“You ok?”  _ Of course you’re not. You’ve gotta be feeling sick. You’ve never been to hold you liquor as well as you’d like to. _

“I’m good,” Bucky sighs. “Hot in here, though.”

A rush of memory flows through Steve’s mind. Just seeing Bucky with a glass of scotch in hand had brought on nostalgia, but now episodes of Bucky in every stage of drunkenness are playing. Glassy-eyed, over-confident, kissing girls, kissing Steve…

_ How are you so attractive? Even when you’re three sheets to the wind?  _ Steve shakes his head. “I’m gonna get started cleaning up. You let me know if you need anything.”

“Mm.” 

Steve loads the dishwasher, stealing glances over his shoulder every minute or so. Bucky doesn’t move, and Steve begins to wonder if he’s fallen asleep. “Want some water?” Steve asks.  _ You’re gonna have some headache in the morning… _

Bucky rearranges himself into a slouch and turns his head 45 degrees, wincing. He opens his mouth to answer, but quickly closes it and swallows hard. “Stevie, I—” He stifles a wet belch.

“Alright, hold on.” Steve grabs the trash can and rushes to Bucky’s side. 

Bucky immediately pitches forward. His hair falls across his face as everything he drank and then some rushes back up. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles as he spits.

“It’s ok.”  _ God, how many times have we done this? I shouldn’t’ve let it get to this point. Ever, really, even all those years ago. _

“I’m fine,” Bucky coughs. Though he undermines himself by retching again. 

_ Sure you are. You’re sick; you’re not completely in control. _

Bucky tries to wipe his mouth on the back of his metal hand. His arm is uncannily steady, but the rest of his body is shaking hard. 

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “It’s ok it you’re not, though.”

“Stevie…” Bucky struggles to focus his eyes. “You worry too much.”


	12. Chapter 12

#  12.0 Things you said when you thought I was asleep [Brooklyn, 1942]

The day Bucky enlists is a day of celebration. 

He brings home his stamped paperwork and throws it down on the kitchen table saying, “Look at that, Stevie. I’m gonna be an American hero after all.”

“We both know there wasn’t ever a question about it,” Steve replies, looking up from his drawing and arranging his face into a suitable expression.  _ No problem for you. Only a problem for me. _

But Bucky can read him like no one else. “Hey. I didn’t mean to rub it in or anything. I just…this is so real now.”

“Yeah, I know you didn’t.”  _ Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little, though. _ But Steve can’t help but smile at Bucky’s concern. “Somebody’ll pick me up, though. I’ll be seeing you in England before you know it.”

“Christ, Stevie…” Bucky shakes his head. “I’d tell you off again if I thought you’d listen.”

“Well, good thing you know me.” Steve stands and puts away his pencils. “But today’s your day. How do you want to celebrate?”

“Hm.” Bucky takes a step forward and twists his lips into a sideways grin. “Have some drinks and a dance and maybe a roll in the hay.”

“Well, go down and stand on the street corner. I’m sure you’ll get dames lined up to spend a night with a real American hero,” Steve laughs.

Bucky laughs too and grabs him around the waist. “I meant with you, punk.” 

“Yeah, break the law real good before you ship off.”

“You know that’s the only way I want it.”

_ Course I do. And we’re both all the stupider for it. _

They end up running through their usual Friday night routine: several shots of scotch apiece at their favorite bar, then Steve watching as Bucky flirts with girl who passes their table. But caught up in the moment and pretending money’s more free-flowing than it actually is, they imbibe a bit more than they should. Before Steve knows it, Bucky’s twirling him under his arm and dragging him out for a dance. 

“This is stupid,” Steve says in an attempt at seriousness. 

“Naw, it’s exactly what I want.” 

Bucky gives in to the first girl who asks, and Steve retreats to their table to watch. Bucky looks wild-eyed and happy. Maybe not quite as much as he did a moment ago, but still upbeat.  _ I’m happy for you, Buck. I’m still sore, but, I’m glad one of us gets to do this. _

The walk home is punctuated with stumbles and bursts of leftover mirth. Bucky kisses Steve in the hallway despite his whispered protests, and they fall into bed as soon as the door is unlocked. 

“Well, congratulations, soldier,” Steve murmurs. He shifts under Bucky’s arm. 

“You better wait for me, you know?”

“Hm?”

Bucky sighs, somewhere between drunk and sleepy. “You better not…run off with someone while I’m gone.”

“Naw,” Steve says. “I’m with you till the end of the line. You know that.”

“Mm.” 

They dissolve into silence, only long, slow inhales and exhales breaking the still air.

Then Bucky whispers, “I’m scared, Stevie.” His breath catches. “I’m so fucking scared.”


	13. Chapter 13

#  13.0 Things you said at the kitchen table [Falls Church, 2015]

Bucky’s slow to come downstairs. With his relaxed schedule, it’s not unusual for Steve to hurry through breakfast and leave for work while Bucky stays in bed. That’s the routine of depression, though, and Bucky hasn’t been down lately. Steve worries as he adds sugar to his coffee. 

_ What if you’re upstairs huddled under the blankets having a flashback while I’m down here making breakfast? If you don’t tell me something’s wrong, how am I supposed to ever know? And if I go up and check, does that make me smothering? _

Steve takes his coffee to the kitchen table and pours himself a bowl of cereal. Without Bucky keeping him company, he doesn’t feel inclined to cook.  _ But if I put on some eggs and bacon, would that wake you up? Bring you down to me? _

He sloshes milk over his Raisin Bran and sits to eat. A pile of printouts from one of Bucky’s classes at the University of Maryland dominates the corner of the table. Steve browses the content of the top sheet. It’s history. An overview of World War II. 

_ I lived it. But to be honest, I don’t know much about the big picture of it. Weird to think of my own life as history… _

He wonders if Bucky feels the same way. He’d thought working toward a degree was a stepping stone to help him find his place in the world. But now he wonders it it’s helping him put the pieces together with himself as well.

Slow, heavy footsteps start down the stairs, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Though when Bucky turns the corner into the kitchen, it turns to a sound of sympathy. 

“Hey, Buck.” 

“Mm,” Bucky replies. He pulls out the chair opposite Steve’s and flops into it. He looks miserable. His face is pale, creating a contrast to the redness around his eyes and nose. His hair hangs lank and greasy, making him shadowy and sullen. Steve can practically feel the heat of his fever radiating across the table.

_ How the hell did I not notice this? You didn’t go to bed feeling sick. I woke up next to you, then just got up without a thought… _

Steve decides to skip the inane questions and jump right into the meaningful ones. “Have you taken anything yet? Ibuprofen, or…?”

Bucky shakes his head, which looks like it hurts.

“Aright, I’ll get you some.” He crosses into the kitchen and measures out a handful of pills. Steve delivers them to Bucky with a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs, his voice already hoarse. He downs the tablets in a single swallow, wincing as they go down. 

Steve palms his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Bucky hums in quiet affirmation. He bends at the waist and leans into Steve’s touch. 

_ You’re not denying it. This openness, I’ve missed it. It’s good. _

“Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky takes a breath. “Don’t go to work today.”

Steve smiles. He runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Yeah. Ok.”


	14. Chapter 14

#  14.0 Things you said after you kissed me [Falls Church, 2014]

The first month after Bucky comes back is an exercise in self-restraint. Steve wants nothing more than to grab him and hold him and make love to him. To quickly fill in the gaps from the years lost and settle back into life together. 

But most of their time is spent on the bathroom floor, as far apart as they can manage in the tiny room. Bucky curls around the toilet, rejecting whatever Steve coaxed him to eat, while Steve crams himself into the corner between the cabinets and the wall. Even tender motions like a hand on a shoulder make Bucky tense and silent, so Steve does the best he can with a mix of verbal and mental reassurances.

“You’re gonna be ok. We’ll find something you can eat.”

_ I don’t know how much longer I can take seeing you like this. You wouldn’t still be here if you thought I was hurting you, but I still feel so bad for putting you through it. _

Bucky fights a hiccup, and Steve’s heart breaks.  _ Who could do stuff like this to another person? Feed them through tubes, take away all self-sufficiency? _

He knows exactly who, and that’s the problem. Steve wants nothing more than to curse Hydra, loudly. But he can’t begin to think what it’ll do to Bucky, who still jumps at the sound of a light switch flicking on. 

Bucky flushes the toilet and leans sideways into the wall. He looks at Steve.

“Alright. You feeling a little better?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs.

_ I don’t want you to have to live like this. Not knowing whether or not you feel well…  _ “How about moving back to the couch?”

Bucky moves his jaw around for a second. “Maybe…um. Could just go to bed…” His pallor brings out the dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted, illness compounding the effects of his restless, nightmare-stricken sleep.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” It doesn’t matter that it’s 2:30 in the afternoon. Steve holds out his hand. 

Bucky grasps it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. He trails his fingers along the wall, then grips the banister as they ascend the stairs. 

Steve’s surprised when he bypasses the bed and heads straight for the ensuite. He sighs, wondering if Bucky already feels sick again. But the only sound is that of water running. Then the flip of the cap on the toothpaste. 

_ Taking care of yourself. It’s good. A good step. _ Steve turns down the quilt and fluffs the pillows. 

Bucky wordlessly climbs into bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt. 

“Alright. You get some rest,” Steve says. He’s on the point of going back downstairs.

“Stay?”

_ I was wondering if you’d say that… _ “Yeah. Sure thing.” Steve slips in beside him.

He doesn’t remember dozing off. But when he wakes up, the light filtering through the window is dusky and Bucky’s face is buried in his shoulder.

He stirs slightly, as if sensing Steve’s awake.

“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Feel better now?”

Bucky blinks slowly, then lifts his head an inch to press his lips to Steve’s jaw. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think so.”


	15. Chapter 15

#  15.0 Things you said with too many miles between us [Fort Hamilton, 1943]

“Rogers,” Agent Carter says. “You have a letter.”

“Huh?” Steve’s so exhausted he doesn’t trust to have heard properly. Sweat still pours off his brow, sending droplets down his temples and toward his ears.

“A letter. It arrived for you this morning.”

“Oh.” He quickly drags his sleeve over his face, both to smarten himself up and buy him a few seconds to get his fluttery thoughts back in order. 

“Do you want it?” Carter asks. Her manner is more unsure than teasing, but she smiles anyway.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to receive mail in basic training,” Steve says.  _ You better not be giving me special treatment. I know I’m the slowest in the bunch. Don’t feel like you have to reward me for trying… _

“You’re not,” Carter says. “But this one…seemed important.”

Steve’s insides turn to ice. Both his parents are already gone, and he doesn’t have any other blood relations. That leaves only one possibility. “Is he ok?” Steve blurts out, forgetting that if anything did happen to Bucky, the authorities would never think to contact him.

Then he realizes what he’s said. Carter’s smile turns awkward. She looks at the floor. Then back at Steve. 

Steve presses his lips together, waiting to be reprimanded.  _ You barely made it into the army, and now you’re going to be kicked out… _

“Yes, I’d say,” Carter says quietly. “Nothing to worry about.”

Relief washes in so strongly Steve’s knees feel weak. “Wait…” He digs the heel of his hand into his eyebrow, afraid to ask that to which he already knows the answer. “You read it?”  _ What the hell did you write, Buck? You’d know better than to send something dirty… _

“Heavens, no,” Carter looks like she could laugh, but recognizes the seriousness in Steve’s expression. “I had to open the envelope to look for contraband, but I knew what it was. No one needs their superiors reading their private correspondence…”

“I appreciate that.”

“His writing’s hard to read anyway.” She does laugh now. So does Steve.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I have it in my office if you want to pick it up after dinner,” Carter says. 

“Thank you. I will.” Steve hurries to join the line outside the mess hall, wrought with new, excited energy.

He eats quickly enough to give himself indigestion, swallowing his food without chewing it first. As soon as Steve’s tray is clear, he hightails it to Carter’s door. 

It’s closed, but light is visible beneath it. It’s been maybe a quarter of an hour since they last spoke, and Steve suddenly wonders if it’s too soon.  _ You look all anxious now… _

But he is anxious. And with Carter knowing what she does, she can’t blame him.

Steve taps on the door. The sound of a telephone hanging up comes from the other side of the barrier. Then Carter says, “Come in.”

“Good evening, Agent,” Steve says. 

“Good evening.” Carter shifts a stack of papers on her desktop and pulls out an envelope. It looks like it’s been through the wringer, covered in scuffs and stamps and postal markings. But Bucky’s scribbled handwriting is clearly visible, and it sets Steve’s heart aflutter. 

“There you are, Rogers.”

“Thank you.” Steve takes the letter in his trembling hand. “I…thank you.”

Carter gives a curt nod and the ghost of a grin. 

Steve practically runs to his bunk, glad most of the others are still in the mess hall so he can have a moment of privacy. He settles against his pillow and lifts the envelope’s already unsealed flap. There are several pages inside, and a quick glance shows all of them covered in scrawl, front and back, with no black censor marks. 

_ Dear Stevie, _ the first page starts _.  _

_ I figure you’re probably not supposed to be getting mail where you are, but I’d be a fool not to try. Things are moving pretty fast where I am, and just in case I don’t get another opportunity to say it, I’ve got to say how much I miss you… _


	16. Chapter 16

#  16.0 Things you said with no space between us [Falls Church, 2014]

They’ve slept in the same bed since Bucky came back. The first night, Steve was worried about privacy and pressure to rekindle things he wasn’t sure Bucky even remembered. But it became clear separation wasn’t going to work. As much as Bucky feared being touched, he feared being alone more. The first time he’d awoken drenched in sweat and yelling from nightmares, Steve had understood why. 

It’s been a little over a month now. Steve watches the digital clock flips from 1:59 to 2:00 as Bucky gasps for air beside him. 

“What do you need me to do?” Steve asks.

Bucky just shakes his head.

It’s early enough that they could just be going to bed right now and still wake up refreshed. But Bucky’s not going back to sleep. That means Steve’s not either. He can’t imagine leaving him to deal with the come-down on his own.

_ If I ask you questions, I’m going to overwhelm you. But if I don’t say anything, that’s as good as abandonment. _

“Just…keep breathing,” Steve whispers. “It’s gonna be ok.”  _ But what if I’m lying? What if it’s not? What if I’m bad on my word? How’s that gonna destroy your trust? _

“Mm.” Bucky flattens his right hand over his face. He leaves his metal arm under the covers.

_ But to the best of my ability, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Nothing bad is happening here. _ “You’re safe, alright?” Steve says. “You’re here with me. You’re far away from anything that’s going to hurt you.”

Bucky continues to catch his breath. The sound of his exhales begins to sound more like a resigned sigh. “Sorry I…woke you up,” he mumbles. 

“It’s no problem, Buck,” Steve says. “I’d rather be up with you.”

“You should…go back to sleep.”

“Nah. I’m ok.”  _ That probably makes you feel even less ok. _

Bucky’s t-shirt is soaked around the collar and under the arms, and a fine tremor still plays through the fingers spread across his forehead. 

_ You need comfort. You know I’m here for you. I know you do. _ Steve ghosts his hand over Bucky’s shoulder, close enough to feel his heat, but not quite touching. They’ve shared physical comfort before, but never with Steve initiating. “Is this alright?” he checks in.

“…yeah.” Bucky uncovers his face and lets his head fall to the side. His eyes glint in the darkness.

Steve runs his hand slowly down Bucky’s sleeve, then down his arm to his elbow. There are goosebumps on Bucky’s skin. 

_ You’re scared and cold and sad. God, I’m so sorry this is happening _ . “Come’ere, Buck.” Steve opens his arms. 

That’s all it takes. Bucky rolls to his side and presses into Steve’s chest. He’s stiff at first, with his arms tucked in at his sides, but he slowly slackens. His knee nudges in between Steve’s thighs, and his cold feet clamp onto Steve’s ankles. 

_ This is comfort. This is safety. This is all yours, Buck. Whenever you need it. _ “See? Everything’s gonna be ok.”

Bucky nods into Steve’s sternum. “I…yeah.”


	17. Chapter 17

#  17.0 Things you said that I wish you hadn’t [Falls Church, 2015]

They’re in bed with their arms and legs intertwined. The making out has reached the point where Steve knows it’s going to progress further, but it just hasn’t gotten there yet. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s jaw and teases his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. 

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers.

“Yeah?”  _ If it’s too much, please, please tell me to stop. Because if you don’t tell me… I really don’t want to stop. _

“I know it’s not a good time. But…I have to tell you something.”

_ Damn right it’s not a good time. _

“Sure, Buck.” He relaxes his palm against the flat of Bucky’s stomach.  _ This doesn’t seem good. Whatever I’m doing, I’m sorry.  _

They’re still close enough to breathe the same air. Bucky bites his lip. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he murmurs.

A flicker of disappointment plays in Steve’s chest.  _ Come on, Buck _ . 

But then again, it’s been years since they’ve really been together. Deades. Long enough for everything to change.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Steve says. And he means it.  _ It doesn’t matter what I want. Really, it doesn’t. _

“I...I want to,” Bucky whispers. “But, I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut and inclines his head toward Steve’s shoulder. His hair falls over his face and tickles Steve’s collarbones. It’s tantalizing, but also heartbreaking.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Steve kisses the top of his head. 

“It’s not your fault. It’s...it’s all me.”

“Buck…” Don’t put yourself down. I’m trying to love you. I do love you. You know how much I love you.

Steve hears him swallow hard. He even feels Bucky’s throat contract against him. “When I was the asset,” he starts, the words barely above a breath. “I… I mean, they…”

_ Oh fuck.  _ The realization of where this is going hits harder than a freight train, and Steve regrets his choice of mental expletives. He regrets everything he’s felt in the past ten minutes, because who is he to even think about his own desires when Bucky’s been grappling with something as big as this.

“Oh, god.” Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s chest and holds him gently. “You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to do anything.”  _ I’m not sure I want to hear it. _

“If I’m… If we’re…” Emotion begins to clot in Bucky’s voice. “You have to know.”

Steve lets out a long breath. “Well. Now I do.”  _ That’s enough. That’s all I need. _

But Bucky keeps talking. It’s vague and garbled and punctuated with tears, but he can’t seem to stop. “It wasn’t all the time… I don’t remember a lot of it… But sometimes after a mission I’d get, like, pushed up against a wall or something…”

_ Please stop. I don’t want to hear this.  _


End file.
